Hey Demyx, I Remember Your Name
by MidnightSchemer13
Summary: A writer with selective amnesia struggles to remember his best friend and accept his death, while learning that maybe people aren't so bad after all. But when disaster strikes again, he'll have to choose between letting go, or staying strong. No yaoi.


**Yes. I started another story. Call it a curse, call it a bad habit, or call it another incomplete I have to update; it's still here.  
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**This should be fairly short, maybe ten chapters at the most, but I'm hoping for six. It feels good to be writing again, but the words are nearly making me cry.**

**This isn't yaoi.  
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**_Dedication - This story is dedicated to my boyfriend, for no reason in particular, besides the fact that he wants to read my writing, which I hope he never does (yet) as I don't think it's good enough for him to read. Everyone else: Enjoy..._** **(I suppose)**

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><p><strong>It<strong> was bitterly cold as a slate-haired young man in all black walked up the sloping hill with the large, barren tree at the top, his hands thrust into his pockets and his hair blowing into his face from the slight breeze. It was only September, but living in the North meant that winter came early, though it had yet to snow. The hill was slightly steeper in the winter (or it just seemed that way because of the lack of leaves), but the man took no notice as he continued walking. As the chilly wind died down, he looked up, through messy, layered bangs, at his destination.

At the top of the hill, beneath the leafless ash tree, stood a single grey headstone, marking the simple grave. Around it wound a small, low fence, with a small, black gate to the side. The man bent down slightly to unbar the gate, and walked in, kneeling before the grave, and sitting on his feet. He smiled faintly to himself as he traced the cold stone with his hand, fingers ghosting over the engraved words.

"_Hey, Demyx_," he said softly. "_It's hard to believe it's already been a year. It's harder still to believe that I remember your name, but I do. See?_" He smiled sadly. "_I've been taking my medicine, and the amnesia barely recurs anymore._" He touched his forehead to the cool marble briefly, before leaning back and pulling out a bouquet of roses from thin air.

"_I'm still in those magic lessons you signed me up for. Here,_" he said, and placed the twelve, bright-red roses against the headstone; they were the only source of vibrant colour in the washed-out environment around them, the man and the grave.

They sat in silence for a long time, neither saying anything (mostly because one was unwilling, and one was unable), and no sound echoing in the air, save for the soft wind, and the rustling of dry grass, when the man with the faded slate hair began humming softly. It was just an idle tune, really, but it was a song both he and Demyx had appreciated. It wasn't long before the humming became singing, and the man softly let his voice carry the words. 

"My sanctuary... My sanctuary, where fears and lies melt away...Music inside... What's left of me, what's left of me... _is gone._" 

The man crossed his legs and shifted his position, before leaning back on his hands, the song entirely abandoned for the moment.

"_Demyx...Is what's left of me really gone? Xemnas sent me to a psychiatrist named called Dr. Ansem, saying that I needed some help... We talk a bit, but not as much as he'd like. He says that what I really need is closure... He says that instead of just visiting you, I should talk to you as well._" The man chuckled dryly to himself. "_As if you could hear me. But it's nice, pretending you can. It's like the conversations we shared before... before you d... d... before you left._" He sighed and touched his forehead to the headstone again.

"_What shall I talk about? Sora's still alive; he's fighting his cancer, the doctors say, and he's still alive. You'd be proud of your cousin. What else? Roxas still visits him every day in the hospital, and still manages to stay the valedictorian of his class. Riku comes in at a close second, and they've been hanging out together a lot, when not at school or the hospital. I suppose almost losing someone so important to you brings you closer to others who suffer as well. _

_"Not that I'd know. I barely see Axel, Marluxia, or Luxord anymore; anyone from the past, really. It's just me in my house now; Simba left, and moved in with Naminé's cat, Nala. She still visits me on weekends, Naminé. We work on our art together, and drink peppermint hot chocolate on the couch. _

_"And then there's Xemnas, but only because he sells my work for me. Y'know, the books I write. The series is almost done; I'm working on the final book, _Birth By Sleep. _I'll read it to you when it's done_," he promised, and fell silent once more. The wind stirred up again, and, shivering, he pulled his black jacket closer around his body in an attempt to stay warm. The sun was setting, casting a soft glow through the clouds in the air. The man looked at the filtered light for a moment.

"_The sunset's beautiful today, Demyx. I know we've seen many a twilight together, but this one seems different from all the rest. Maybe it's because you're watching from a place with a better view._" He placed his pale hands to the cold ground of the grave, and fell quiet again.

It was probably just his imagination, but the earth there seemed a little bit warmer. He shook his head.

_Nonsense. It's just the heat from my hand dissipating into the ground. He's dead. He's been dead. He's not coming back._

"_Hey Demyx?_" he said again, facing the tombstone. "_I know you said that you wanted to be buried with your sitar, Arpeggio, and we did lay you with it, but... can you play sitars in Heaven? Can you _bring _sitars to Heaven, for that matter?_" He thought for a moment on his rhetorical question, and glanced back up at the sky again.

"_I'd bring my books,_" he murmured to no one in particular, since no one was there, "_so I'd never be bored. I'd always have something to read in my Lexicon._"

Silence fell yet again as the slate-haired man watched the sun set behind the horizon, darkening the sky and cooling the air down even further. He shivered, but remained where he was, keeping the silence intact.

After about an hour, the man stood up, brushed his black clothes off, and brushed the grey headstone with pale fingers.

"I'll come back soon. I promise."

He left without another word, leaving the grave, the tree, the hill, and the roses, in the silent night.

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><p><strong>AN: This work of fiction is inspired by and loosely based off of Lucy by SKILLET. I have an actual plot in mind, but the finer details are being worked out.  
>Zexion does speak in italics right now, but in chapter two, he'll speak in non-italics. <strong>

**It might be because he was imagining telling Demyx this, and just be sitting there silently for hours and hours in the cold, and actually utter the last six words (I swear that reference wasn't on purpose) out loud, but you take it in what way you will. Thanks.**

**_BETA-ed by ObsidianRush_  
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